


Only if it's Convenient

by ProfessorDrarry



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: And that sixth year Draco isn't great either, Apologies to the ship, Fairest of the Rare, Hogwarts Sixth Year, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Try to Remember Cormac Sucks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 20:10:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15493731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProfessorDrarry/pseuds/ProfessorDrarry
Summary: Cormac is like the sword of Gryffindor; he only takes on that which will make him stronger.Or else, he's a bit of a shit who is extremely comfortable using people for his own gain.Either way, it would seem that Draco Malfoy is pretty okay with that.





	Only if it's Convenient

**Author's Note:**

> Can you imagine the level of pompous ego in this room? Its a wonder they don't explode. This pointless little drabble brought to you by the lovely people at Fairest of the Rare. And by Stephen Fry's Cormac McLaggen voice. There is no plot here. Don't go looking for it.
> 
> I'm sorry.

It was the third Quidditch practise Potter had led this week and Cormac was livid. The buffoon clearly didn’t know what he was doing. He was going to work the team to exhaustion with stupid drills and ludicrous ‘friendly games’ that every Quidditch player worth their salt knew were pointless. He had tried numerous times to offer his expertise, but Potter seemed determined to be the reason that Gryffindor lost the cup yet again. And in Cormac’s last year too.  
  
Cormac decided that if he wasn’t going to be valued for his very sound coaching advice, he wanted to at least watch gleefully as Potter fell from his little pedestal in the eyes of the other Gryffindors. He was on his way down to the pitch when he ran straight into someone, who fell slightly backwards as it collided with Cormac's strong, muscled body.   
  
They’d had never crossed paths before, of that he was certain. Possibly because it was clear, even right now, that this was not the normal path this particular student took anywhere. They were grumbling to themselves and pacing, looking more distressed than was comforting. Cormac was a seventh year; he had a duty to deal with this.  
  
“Can I help you?” he boomed, angrily storming in the direction of the grey-faced blonde boy.   
  
“I highly doubt it,” the boy sneered back. He looked Cormac up and down, forcing him to stand up as tall as he could and puff out his chest importantly. Never before had this stance failed to impress people; his father had showed him how to feign importance, and it served him well. But the boy just huffed derisively and rolled his eyes. Cormac felt his shoulders fall in confusion. What on earth was happening this year? Never before had he had this much trouble being Cormac McLaggen. He decided to press on, and he cleared his throat and changed tactics.  
  
“McLaggen,” he said, extending a hand. “Cormac.”

“Why the hell would I care _who you are_?” the boy snipped, turning his nose up in horror at the extended hand. “Go away, I’m busy.”

“Excuse me,” Cormac hissed, angry now. “Where the hell do you get off-”

“Look,” the boy interrupted. “I’m sure this is going to be very impressive and intimidating and everything, but if we could just skip it. I’ve said, I'm _busy_.”

He turned as if to walk away, and the hand that was still extended to shake his shot out and grabbed his shoulder. Cormac looked down at his own arm, surprised he had reached out to physically stop someone; it wasn't really his normal reaction.

“You’re not supposed to be up here,” Cormac said loudly. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t do something about that.”

The boy reached down and plucked Cormac's hand from his shoulder with two fingers, as though it was something dirty and disgusting, and the sneer on his face echoed the sentiment; in his surprise, McLaggen didn't protest. The boy met his eye, ready to insult him some more, but he paused.

“Wait a second,” the boy said hesitantly, eyes narrowing. “You’re one of those Slug people. You know Slughorn, don’t you.”

Cormac’s eyes narrowed too as he assessed the boy; truthfully, if you overlooked the fact that he looked like he hadn’t been outside all year, and possibly hadn’t slept in that time either, he wasn’t bad looking. Even more truthfully, Cormac wasn’t actually that picky about appearance. It was another trait he’d inherited from his father. In the grand scheme of things, appearance wasn't very good currency in the long run. It was easy enough to let go of physical attraction when you were attractive enough all on your own. Cormac’s tastes veered more towards people who could be of use to him. With this one sentence, he started to look at the blonde boy with the bad temper in a very different light. He didn't quite know why, yet, but maybe this connection could be useful to him.

He folded his arms and smirked. “Maybe,” he conceded. “What’s it to you?”

The boy’s entire demeanour changed. Cormac smiled. He was glad they were now on the same page. He could appreciate someone who didn’t attempt to hide their goals, who wasn’t demure or coy. No one had time for duplicity.

“Can I tell you something?” Cormac said gently. “I was on my way to watch Potter ruin our Quidditch chances. But…” he shrugged. “I could be convinced that any other activity would be more worth my time. Perhaps, even, quick meetings with certain people? It could be made worth my while." 

The boy broke into a rather frightening grin, and Cormac shivered internally.

“Draco Malfoy,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m sorry for my rudeness. Gryffindors are normally just so…invasive.”

“We are,” Cormac admitted with a chuckle. “In many ways. Come on, I think Slughorn will be in his office. I'll introduce you."

The boy looked like he was about to protest, and Cormac simply turned and began to walk away. "Unless of course you're too busy."

* * *

 

It wasn’t even a week before Cormac knew that he had made a terrible decision by letting his ego be attracted to Malfoy. Not only was Malfoy not overly uesful to him in terms of connections or intrigue at the Ministry, but he was an impossibly good lay. It was extremely inconvenient. He meant to stop going to find Malfoy each night after dinner, he really did. Especially once it became clear that Slughorn, for whatever reason, did _not_ like Draco. Cormac really couldn't afford to get on the bad side of Horace Slughorn.

He thought for sure he'd managed it last night, but woke to find Draco slung over him, gently snoring, and knew he had not made it back to the Gryffindor common room the night before. On the one hand, it was kind of nice that Draco had finally gotten some sleep. On the other, Cormac was intrinsically uncomfortable with intimacy. Sex was one thing. Comfort was quite another. He shifted himself out from under Draco gently, but woke him regardless.

“Shit,” he said groggily, scrubbing his face. “Sorry, must have just been exhausted.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Cormac said, waving him off. “I’m the one who didn’t leave. Hey, did Slughorn change his mind about the party?”

“No,” Draco frowned irritably, sitting up to watch Cormac pull on his pants.

“Ah well,” Cormac shrugged. “I’m going with Granger. You should just crash.”

“I don’t actually want to go to the fucking party,” Draco grumbled.  
  
“Sure, whatever,” Cormac said, leaning down to kiss Draco as he left.

“Hey,” Draco said to his retreating form. “Granger?”

“Needed a date. She asked me. Bloody weird if you ask me. But whatever, she’s fit enough.”

“Hm,” Draco replied.   
  
Cormac laughed. “Don’t do Jealousy, Malfoy. Doesn’t suit you. We’re hardly dating.”

“Fuck you, McLaggen. Obviously. Thanks, as usual, for being such a convenient fuck.” Draco lay back down, turning away from him.

Cormac laughed again and launched himself onto the bed, smothering Draco with his entire body. “Let me get this straight,” he said, nuzzling himself into Draco’s neck. “We have agreed to neither talk or acknowledge each other in the corridors, yet you expected me to take you to the party as what… my date? Come on, Draco. Be a Malfoy.”

Draco spun to face him, smiling a sneaky coy smile. “God, you’re easy,” he quipped. “One little whiny comment and I’ve got you straight back where I want you. You know I don’t give a single galleon who you get your rocks off with at that sleazeball’s party. And no, I will not be crashing as you so eloquently put it. I am very busy. I have a task--”   
“That is of great importance,” Cormac finished, wiggling down so that he was crushing Draco even more, wrapping his arms around him. “Yeah, yeah. I know.”

“Get out of here,” Draco teased. “You’ll wake everyone up and then I’ll have to explain you.”  The horror on his face was very real for a moment and it made Cormac laugh.

“Then I’d have to like… take you to Hogsmeade or something. How about it, Malfoy? Fancy a nice tea down at Puddifoot’s? I’ll buy you a pastry and everything.”

“Fuck off,” Draco laughed, beating him across the head with a pillow as Cormac stood again.

“As always,” he laughed, giving Draco a mock salute. “Been a pleasure, Malfoy. Stay the fuck away from my Quidditch team.”

“Gladly,” Draco yawned, curling up and closing his eyes again. "Stay the fuck away from everyone I know."

"Gladly."

 


End file.
